


Satin and Lace

by kasuutan



Category: Free!
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Porn Without Plot, Spanking, Toys, boys in lingerie, happy fucking birthday loreena, i am sorry again, makoto being gross like hella gross, misleading title because makoto would never buy haru anything made of satin that boy has standards, probably painfully out of character for the sake of gratuitous sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 22:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kasuutan/pseuds/kasuutan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Makoto is gross and Haruka is an enabler. That's literally it. Written as a birthday present for a friend take your gross ass smut pointless smut and have a ball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satin and Lace

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Goddamn Birthday Loreena. I sent her a message and was like "hey yo your birthday is coming up what kind of porn do you want." You know what this gross shit sent me.  
> MakoHaru. Lingerie. Spanking. Dirty Talk. My head nearly exploded and this is the too lengthy result. I had too much fun and I am minorly ashamed but also not really.

Haruka can’t believe it. He actually cannot believe it. His jaw slacks, lips parted into a perfect “o” and he just simply cannot believe it.

“I won!”

The controller slips out of Haruka’s hands and clanks to the floor.   
_How. How did he do it?_

Makoto, Haruka knows, is notorious for being godawful at video games. He can’t play horror games without crying, he reacts too slowly in racing games, and forgets button combinations for fighters. Hell, Makoto is terrible at Pokemon, and Haruka isn’t 100% sure how.

Haruka rubs his eyes, blinks once, twice, and checks the TV screen again. Kirby Wins! flashes obnoxiously across the screen, pink ball with stubs for arms waving triumphantly back at him. Zelda stands in the background, looking as dejected as Haruka feels right now.

Makoto drops his controller and leans back on his palms, letting out a sigh far too dramatic for a victory in an SSBB match.

“Ah! I can’t believe I won!” Makoto’s sweating, looking more like he had just run a marathon, not beaten Haruka in a virtual fight with a pink sphere.

“Yeah. Me neither.” Because he can’t, he can’t believe it, he absolutely refuses to believe it.

Makoto pushes his glasses up his nose and tilts his head, locking eyes with Haruka. He has to keep from rolling his eyes, because frankly, the situation is ridiculous.

“A promise is a promise, right Haru-chan?” This time, Haruka does roll his eyes.

I shouldn’t have agreed to this. Only Makoto would wager something this absurd over a game of Smash Bros.

Haruka isn’t sure what he’s more dejected about; the prospect of what he’s expected to be doing in the next fifteen minutes, or the fact that Makoto will not be buying him mackerel for the next two weeks because he lost the bet.

The fact that he’s questioning this makes Haruka think he needs to sort his priorities out a little bit.

But he’ll have time to contemplate that later, because Makoto is shoving a paper bag into his hands, face far too eager and child-like for where this entire terrible decision is heading.

Haruka regards the paper bag like he’d regard one of Nagisa’s novel recommendations ( _It’s really good Haru-chan! And just a tad bit risque~_ and then the following day, _Hey!I just read this new book on the Haymarket Affair! I’ll bring it to you tomorrow!_ )

Makoto’s still smiling at him with that stupid dopey look on his face, like what he’s asking of Haruka is completely and utterly innocent.

“I got these just for you, Haru-chan. I hope you like them!” Haruka is torn between feeling endeared and like he wants to flick Makoto on the forehead. He settles for both, leaving Makoto whining “Haru, that hurt!” and padding off to his bathroom.

Haruka locks the door behind him, for good measure, before tipping the paper bag on its side, contents spilling out on the bathroom counter. He lets his eyes widen momentarily before clicking his tongue and letting out a “Stupid Makoto,” under his breath.

The color is nice, at least.

Matches his eyes, he thinks.

Soft to the touch, if there’s anything good about it.

Haruka strips out of his clothes with his trademark stripping speed. To get it over with, he tells himself, not out of excitement.

Haruka Nanase does not get excited.

He starts with the underwear, because it’s the article of clothing that makes the most sense. If he can call it an article of clothing. Haruka slips his legs through and pulls it over his hips. At first, he doesn’t think it fits, because his ass is hanging out obscenely, lace pulled up in between the cheeks and flaring out right above his cleft. _A g-string_ Haruka thinks to himself critically, and the only reason he knows is because he’s unwillingly been lead through Nagisa’s extensive underwear collection.

It’s not terrible, it’s comfortable, at least. It doesn’t feel much different from a speedo, except for the fact that he feels as if his ass is trying to eat the fabric. He snaps the elastic against his hip, light sting crawling up his skin, and Haruka guesses he can get used to it. For Makoto. This once.

Next, Haruka rolls each of the stockings up over his knees and lets them hug his thighs. He likes these a bit more, but that’s like saying he prefers the dull pain of being repeatedly poked with a pencil, as opposed to a sharpened needle.

They don’t look bad though, Haruka thinks as he gives himself a once over in the bathroom mirror. He doesn’t get it, but whatever Makoto wants, then fine.

The last piece, Haruka has no idea what to even make of.

It feels nice, comfy, soft aqua silk reflecting nicely in the light of the bathroom. Ruffles and lace line the hems of the straps and soft cups. Makoto had the decency to pick one that had no padding, so when Haruka slips the babydoll over his head, the cups lay flat against his chest, fabric ghosting over his abdomen and tickling his skin. The front is slit open, exposing his navel and the lace of his thong.

 _Where the fuck did Makoto buy this stuff_ is Haruka’s first thought, not why, because it’s pretty damn clear why. Makoto, the Makoto who cried the first time they’d had sex, going out and buying sexy lingerie for his boyfriend to wear, the concept is so foreign to Haruka it’s almost a little.

_What? Endearing? Cute? Arousing?_

Haruka tries to pretend a shiver doesn’t crawl up his spine.

Haruka Nanase doesn’t get excited.

He forces himself to not run back to his bedroom.

 

Haruka Nanase also does not get embarrassed. _I strip in public places to jump into fountains. How is this any different. I am in my own home. There’s no one here to see me._

In his own home. Clad in silk and lace. With Makoto just beyond his door.   
Haruka stops, toes curling in his stockings hesitantly. His fingers hover above the doorknob, and he contemplates going straight back to the bathroom and putting his regular clothes back on.

But that would be weak.   
And Haruka Nanase is definitely not weak.

Well, that’s what he thinks, until he says fuck it and throws his bedroom door open. It’s what he thinks until he sees Makoto laid back against his bed, completely naked and stroking himself leisurely. It’s what he thinks, until emerald eyes lock straight onto his, and Haruka feels his breath hitch and his knees buckle.

Okay, maybe he is weak.

But it’s all Makoto’s fucking fault.

An uncharacteristic smirk that just says trouble crosses Makoto’s face, and Haruka shouldn’t be enjoying it as much as he is.

“Mm, looks like I picked all the right things. How do you like them, Haru-chan?” Makoto’s gaze hasn’t waivered, and neither has the grip on his cock.

“-chan this -chan that, when will you stop?” is all Haruka can think of saying. He wants to look away, embarrassment creeping up his cheeks with a light pink flush. But Makoto’s got him pinned down without even needing to touch him, and all he can do is stare straight back.

And then Makoto lets out a light chuckle, that same familiar, warm laugh that Haruka’s memorized every detail of, from the way his eyes crinkle up in the corners, to how his head tilts back just a little bit to let out a sound reserved for angels.

“Never.”

Haruka doesn’t know when he crossed the bedroom, when his knees found the mattress, or how he’d ended up in Makoto’s lap, but he’s there now, feeling just the slightest bit self-conscious, but Makoto’s running his strong, calloused hands over Haruka’s milky thighs and he just can’t think of a single reason to question or care.

Haruka wishes he could memorize every single one of Makoto’s kisses, because each of them manages to steal his breath away every single time. It’s absurd, Haruka thinks, to not ever get used to the chapped skin of Makoto’s lips. When Makoto takes his bottom lip between his teeth, Haruka keens, just a little bit, because he’ll never get used to the way Makoto makes him feel.

When they pull away, Makoto’s looking smug, and it irritates Haruka just a little bit.

“What’s with that face?”

“What face?”

“You look like you’ve done something wrong, and you’re proud of it.” Makoto laughs again, and Haruka forces his heart to not melt.

“I feel like I’ve done everything right, to be honest,” the taller teen responds, hooking a finger in the hem of Haruka’s stocking and snapping it against his skin. Haruka jolts forward, whine caught in the back of his throat.

“When did you get so gross?” Haruka all but pants out, and he wonders _And why am I_ _enjoying it?_

Makoto has the gall to look amused.

“You’re being very rude, Haru. What am I ever going to do with you?”

Haruka’s afraid of the answer to that question.

Makoto’s hand moves up from Haruka’s thigh to skim along the edge of his underwear, fingers dipping teasingly past the elastic.

“I could go here, but that’d be too easy, wouldn’t it?” Makoto grinds his hips up, stiff cock rubbing right up into his ass. Haruka muffles a moan into Makoto’s neck, and suddenly everything is feeling very, very hot.

“Ah, no. We can’t have that. Look at me, Haru.”

Hands are palming up the front of Haruka’s babydoll, warm fingers contrasting pleasantly against the cool silk fabric. Light touches make their way up the expanses of Haruka’s abdomen, tracing between the concaves of his ribs, and grazing just ever so lightly over a raised, pink nipple.

It comes to Haruka’s attention that he’s panting, breaths coming short and uneven. The air is suffocating, making Haruka’s vision hazy.

“Here? Will you look at me now, Haruka?”  Haruka _abhors_ it when Makoto uses his full name, abhors it because Makoto knows _exactly_ how to use it, _when_ to use it, and what it _does_ to him.

And then Makoto’s pinching hard, thumb and forefinger rubbing rough circles over the abused rosey bud.

“ _Nnn_!” Haruka’s head snaps up off Makoto’s shoulders, and Makoto takes his chance to take a gentle hold of Haruka’s chin. _Gross pervert, but still gentle,_  Haruka thinks to himself in the back of his mind.

Makoto’s turning the smaller boy’s head to face him, locking emerald on sapphire. Haruka’s lips are parted, little pink tongue peeking out between his teeth.

“You’re so cute, Haru-chan. So pretty and so cute.” Haruka wants to groan out of annoyance, but Makoto’s flicking his fingers at this point, so all he can do is moan back, hips grinding down in non-verbal attempt at _go faster_.

“So greedy. Be patient, baby.”

Haruka keens, but he’ll never, ever admit out loud that he likes being called “baby”.

Makoto’s strong, Haruka knows that, but he’s still surprised when his boyfriend lifts him off his lap, flips him over, and lays him on the bed, stomach side down. He’s even more surprised when he feels the bed raise, bare legs crossing the room.

“Where are you going?” Haruka all but spits, because seriously, what the fuck.

Makoto just lets out an exaggerated sigh, and Haruka hears the run of a zipper.

“Just getting something else for you. You said I could do whatever I wanted, right?”

_What have I created._

The bed sinks down again, and Haruka feels Makoto’s familiar warmth behind him.

“What it is it?”

“You’ll find out soon.” Haruka can hear the smirk, and he rolls his eyes into the mattress. The smaller boy knows what’s coming next, and he curls himself down, back arching into a perfect arc, arms pillowed around his face.

He’s beyond the self-conscious thing at this point, thong-clad ass raised in the air, framed in milky thighs dressed in lace. Haruka can’t even bother to feel embarrassed at this point. Not when he hears Makoto groan from behind and the sharp pop of a plastic cap

“Excellent.” Makoto breathes, and Haruka feels a finger run over the string of his thong. The g-string is pushed aside, slicked-up digit prodding at the rim of his entrance.

“ _Ah_ ,” Haruka breathes out as Makoto slides his finger in torturously slow, just barely skimming right where he wants Makoto to be.

“Mm, I’ll never get over how tight you are.” Makoto hisses, draping his body over Haruka’s and pressing kisses down the back of his boyfriend’s neck. Haruka flushes scarlet right into the crook of his arms.

“I can’t wait to see you taking my cock like you’re made for it.” Haruka groans, because first of all _embarrassing,_ and second of all, he is utterly and completely made for Makoto’s dick, not a “like” about it.

He can’t say this out loud though, even if he wanted to, because Makoto’s suddenly pulling his fingers out, and shoving two straight back in, hard, deep, and punishing.

Haruka’s head snaps off the bed, hips rutting back against Makoto’s hand because _yes, harder, fuck_.

“Yeah, you like it like that? What do you want, Haru?”

“More,” Haruka moans out, because it’s the shortest version of _fuck me so hard so I_ _can’t walk_ that he can think of.

It was the right thing to say,  (or possibly the wrong thing, depending on who’s looking) because Haruka hears a sharp smack, the piercing sound of skin cracking against skin ringing loud through the room.

“ **Fuck**!” Haruka wails, sting crawling from his ass all the way up his spine. It makes his head spin, and he’s suddenly aware that _he is so fucking hard_ he can feel the precum dripping out of his slit and soaking the front of his underwear.

“Was- was that okay?” Haruka turns his head around and looks at Makoto, bewildered. Makoto’s looking back at him, sheepish grin making him look as innocent when he really should not be in this given moment.

 _Unbelievabl_ e, Haruka thinks.

But Makoto is Makoto, and Haruka can’t help but smile, just a little bit, because Makoto hasn’t changed a bit.

“Yeah. It was okay,”

“Should I keep doing it?”

“...if you want.” It’s Haruka’s turn to play coy, leaning back down to raise his ass higher up in the air. There’s another smack, harder this time, and it has Haruka biting the bedsheets to keep from actually screaming. They come one after another, space between each shortening, until Haruka is hoarse from shouting, and his ass is red with palm marks.

His throat hurts, but it feels _so goddamn good_ , and Haruka doesn’t think he’s ever been harder in his life.

“Can I try something? If you don’t like it, let me know, okay?” The mood’s shifted, Haruka can tell, and as grateful as he is that Makoto is still exactly the same as he has always been, he’s getting a little flustered and all he really wants is to be fucked straight into the mattress.

“Yeah, alright.” Haruka tries to not sound excited.

Makoto’s hands leave his back side, pausing to rub gently at his surely red ass cheek. He hears the plastic pop again, and Haruka feels himself going half lidded.

“Lemme know if I-”

“Just do it, Makoto.” Haruka cuts off. “What happened to that gross perv from earlier?”

He can practically hear Makoto pouting.

“Still here, just exercising proper consent.”

“Get on wi-” And then something is pressing inside of him, something large, but not large enough to be Makoto. It’s foreign, and Haruka’s brow scrunches in confusion.

“What-”

There’s a faint buzzing, and Haruka drops completely flat onto the bed, knees giving way as the vibrator buzzes inside him.

“Is this okay?” Makoto says behind him, more so out of spite than anything else. Haruka can’t even remember his own name, much less form a complete sentence, so he just turns his head to the side and lets out an obscene loud moan that vaguely sounds like “ _Fuck, Makoto._ ”

Makoto’s pulling the toy out, Haruka whining at the loss. He’s left panting, saliva crawling down his chin and onto the sheets.

“Turn over, babe. I wanna see your pretty little face.”

If it were possible to blush anymore, Haruka would.

Haruka rolls onto his back, straps of the babydoll hanging limp off his shoulders. He’s met with that same warm, emerald green gaze. Makoto’s been looking at him like this for years, adoration and love glassing over his dilated pupils. Haruka loves the way Makoto looks at him, like he’s the only thing that matters, and it keeps Haruka feeling full and complete.

Makoto’s pushing the vibrator back in, hard and fast, and Haruka’s eyes are rolling into the back of his head, hips bucking off the mattress to meet Makoto’s thrust.

“Ah, fuck, you’re so perfect Haru. Look at you, gorgeous, pretty boy,”

“ _Ah, ahhn, Makoto, I_ -” Haruka can feel himself tightening, hips bucking erratically, head thrashing back and forth against the pillows.

“Close? You close?”

“Yes, _yes_ , _**god fuck yes**_!”

And then, suddenly everything’s gone, and Haruka’s sobbing as a fist closes around the base of his cock, tight and punishing like every single thing he’s ever done wrong is coming down to spite him in this single given moment.

“Makoto!” Haruka cries, actually cries, tears of arousal beading at the corners of his eyes as he begs openly because _fuck it literally fuck it._

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Makoto’s looking down at him, head tilted, and in any other moment it would be cute, but right now, Haruka finds it absolutely fucking infuriating.

“Come on!”

“A little desperate, aren’t we?” Haruka wails.

“What do you want, baby?” Another wail.

“Come on, tell me, or I can’t do anything for you.”

“Fuck, Makoto, fuck me, please, _please!_ ” Makoto chuckles, and Haruka wants to punch him.

“All you had to do was ask nicely.”

Makoto’s slides in without warning, and Haruka keens at the familiar weight, heat, and stretch that is Makoto Tachibana.

The smaller boy lets his head falls back, letting out an uninhibited moan rip from his throat because he is beyond gone at this point. Makoto’s groaning above him, trying desperately hard to stay still to let Haruka adjust, even if it’s just for a second.

Long, stocking-clad legs are wrapping around Makoto’s waist, ankles locking at the small of his back.

“Go,”

And Makoto does. He’s driving hard, right into where Haruka needs him. He can’t even tell what he’s saying at this point, sounds that might be Makoto’s name, or just incoherent moans and whines spilling past his lips and into the sex-scented air.

Makoto’s no better, grunts and growls rumbling from the back of his throat straight into Haruka’s ear.

“Ah, god, Haruka, I love you. Fuck, I love you.”

Of all the things Makoto’s said tonight, it’s _I love you_ that makes Haruka flush the most. He’s flustered, eyes going wide, even though Makoto’s definitely said it before.

“ _Nnn_ , I love you too, Makoto. I love you.” And Makoto’s lips are latching onto his neck, sucking and biting hard, and Haruka feels so loved, so owned, so possessed, and it’s absolutely fucking amazing.

“Ah, Makoto, please! Close!” Nails are scraping up the expanses of Makoto’s broad, defined back, Haruka clawing on for dear life as his insides wind up tight like a perfectly tuned instrument that only Makoto can play and make sound beautiful 

“That’s it, Haru. Let me see you come, let’s see your pretty face when you come,”

Haruka didn’t even know he was a screamer. Neither did Makoto. But now, he’s sure the whole fucking neighborhood knows, because Haruka’s coming harder than he even knew was possible, cum splattering up his stomach and over his pretty lace underwear.

“Oh, fucking god, Haruka,” Makoto groans, taking in the sight that is gorgeous, perfect Haruka Nanase. He’s about to pull out, but he feels Haruka clench around him, ripping a throaty groan right out of his gut.

“Inside. Cum in me.”

_Jesus christ._

It just takes two shallow thrusts for Makoto to do just that, cum filling up his boyfriend and spilling over the rim. Haruka hums in satisfaction, arms relaxing around Makoto’s neck.

It’s too fucking hot. His sheets reek of sweat and sex and lube. Cum is dripping down his thighs and onto his sheets and Haruka can’t even think about the amount of cleaning he’ll have to do to himself and his room after the fact. He rolls over onto his side, pillowing his head with his arm. Makoto’s looking down at him, that same gentle smile returning to his face.

“You’re perfect.” Haruka says plainly, like it’s very clearly obvious to everyone.

Makoto has the audacity to blush. _Unbelievable_ , Haruka thinks again.

“No, you are.” And Makoto’s running his fingers through Haruka’s hair, brushing the stray locks out of his face.

The kiss is sloppy, lazy, but utterly filled with love and adoration.

They only pull apart because Makoto’s snapping Haruka’s stocking against his thigh.

“So, can we keep these?” 

Haruka rolls his eyes.


End file.
